Changes (day 2864)

Fires woke and excited the beast
Roaring in a blaze.
Night curling around dark poles
Eyes intently gazed.

Lips so pure; an Angel descended
Lightly touching down
Afraid of nothing, no need to be
As day broke all around.

Visions of a playful glen
Peaceful animals, babbling stream
Walking with a certain gait
Midsummer’s healthiest dream.

That Was Then (day 2863)

If that was then
Then this is by no means the end,
Two wheels rolling
And clouds so clear
Even birds faintly pass between them.

A dollar is gone.
Was it an even game?

A hand that served up
Delicious things, unnamed.
An engine that roared
As it began.

Lucky is every lost soul traveling on;
Full tank and such sweetness of a radio,
Then by two, sun’s beating in
Escaping for a moment into shade.
Watch Clouds and every bird so clear.

That was then and now is the end.

Reality (day 2862)

Sky has turned on me
I awoke to a burning red
Dazzling my imagination
As fire so transfixes thoughts.
Then Rain began
Challenging my scales
Peaceful summer breeze
Turned torrential squeeze.
I closed the book of a window
To still my worried mind
Losing my touch
With Reality’s closest neighbour.

Root of Man (day 2853)

The root of man shall be no different
Then the root of every tree
Growing wildly as advantageous
Over rocks upon the ground.

Each mystery of a turn
Formation of a bud
Callus of a wound, deep
Shimmering in the sun.

As seasons take their tide
Summer turns to Autumn
Transformational energy
Harvest moon howls night.

Throat of Life (day 2847)

Wind is howling through this house
Like inescapable tombs of our past
Flesh biting flesh
Wrapped with fabric so dusty it crumbles.

Yet in open webs I can still see through
Nostalgia hits an ancient bone
That even her subtle breath of wind
Finds it hard to escape duty of.

Slowly eyelids close as raspy sun strokes,
A dying ember reminds us each
That our throat of life
Calms the day’s very nature.

At the Margin (day 2842)

It is destruction that has collapsed
Sure it should seem rather redundant
But it was not as it should be
For there were no golden melodies
No silent tigers awaiting at the margin
Long arching stems of tropical plants
Waving ever so slightly in afternoon rain
Slipping noiselessly down the bank
Of misunderstood’s miss-planned and misspent
Margins gone away.